Hold Me Now
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: A series of unrelated ficlets written for the cuddles and hugs meme. One hug per day - number 18: Post-sex - after their first time.
1. Clinging

_**AN**: This is a collection of unrelated ficlets - each approximately 500 words - based on prompts and written for the 'cuddles and hugs' meme on tumblr. Thematic hugs, if you will - the title of each short story specifies the prompt it was based upon. They have individually been up on my tumblr before so they may seem familiar to some of you. I will post one a day in the order in which they were first posted. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading! xox_

* * *

**Clinging**

* * *

He wakes with a start, the gasp of breath painful as he sucks it into his lungs, flames licking at his insides. His eyes fly open, blinking at the stark white light, the bright room but then she's there, her face hovering above his, her fingers cool against his skin as she cradles her palm to his cheek.

He breathes, in and out, trying to get his bearings as the pain in his lungs slowly calms to a dull roar, feels more like a boulder sitting on his ribs than the scorch of fire. But she's here, her presence like a warm wash of relief that rushes through his blood.

"Kate..." His voice sounds grated, barely there.

"Shhh, shhh." Her lips tremble, her thumb soothing a path to his cheekbone, over and over, almost hypnotic as he stares up at her while her eyes flicker across his face, wide and scared and watery. His hand aches and he tries to flex his fingers, can barely move it.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she sniffles and he glances down to find her hand gripped tightly around his knuckles, clinging to him so fervently that his skin turned white. Kate loosens her hold on him, the blood rushing back into his fingertips with a tingle but he reaches for her, doesn't let her loosen her hold completely; won't let her go, not now, not ever.

"You okay?"

She half-laughs, half-sniffles. "You're asking me that when you… When you almost…" And now she really starts crying, the tears rolling steadily down her cheeks even as she valiantly tries to hold it together. His brave, strong girl.

He folds his fingers around hers, tugging her closer until she's curled against his side in the narrow hospital bed, his arm around her, cradling her to his body. She moves slowly, carefully lays her cheek to his chest as she slides her arm across his stomach, her fingers curved around the side of his torso.

"Hold me," he pleads, needs nothing more than the strength of her presence, the warmth of her pressed soothingly to him, needs only her, always her, Kate.

She sobs, a tremor running through her body as she tightens her hold on him, clinging to him feverishly. "You're okay?" It's half-question, half-statement and he presses his lips to her hair in a lingering kiss.

"I'm okay."


	2. Fly-by Hugs

**Fly-by Hugs**

* * *

The hand seems to come out of nowhere, grabbing her wrist, swinging her around until she's stumbling into the supply closet, the door falling shut behind them.

"Castle," she yelps in surprise, her voice carefully held at a whisper but then his arms surround her, his hold strong as he engulfs her in his embrace. She sags against him with a sigh, didn't even realize how much she's needed this until he was folded so tightly around her. She inhales his scent, her face pressed to his sternum as she wraps her arms around his torso, savoring the strength, the inherent safety of his arms.

"I just really, really needed to hug you," he sighs, his arms tightening around her even more, almost lifting her off her feet.

"We hug all the time," she murmurs into his chest, her fingers running a soothing path up and down his spine.

"Not like this. I needed a real hug, not one of those fly-by hugs."

She grins, lifting her head just slightly so that she can look up at him. "What's a fly-by hug?"

"You know," he grumbles, almost pouts and she has to bite her lip not to grin, finding him utterly adorable. "One of those we give in passing, quick arm hugs and a peck to the cheek, when we're too busy to linger, too hurried to just hold on…"

"I'm sorry," she sighs, her expression sobering as she trails a hand up his chest, curls her palm around his neck because he's right, they've been so busy, hurrying through the whirlwind of their days and suddenly she misses him with an ache that is entirely absurd when he's standing right here with his arms around her. "This case…"

"…and all the wedding planning. I know, it's been hectic," he says, nothing but understanding in his voice and warmth spirals through her limbs.

"Just wanted you to know that I miss you…" He leans in, his lips lingering over her forehead.

"And need you…" He kisses her cheek.

"And want you…" His teeth graze her jawline teasingly, and her knees buckle just a little bit but he's got her tightly around her waist, holding her up. Castle caresses her chin, his fingertips tipping her face up to him before he kisses her, his lips slow and sweet and gentle.

"And I love you."

Her exhale sounds suspiciously like a whimper when Kate throws herself back into his arms, her face pressed into the arc of his neck as his palms rest broadly against her shoulder blades and the curve of her rear, and she marvels how safe and calm and happy she feels in his arms, how much she needs this, needs him.

And she vows to herself - no more fly-by hugs.


	3. Tackle Hug

_Thank you all so much for reading and re-reading, and for your lovely comments. They never fail to make me smile._

* * *

**Tackle Hug**

* * *

He pushes through the door, lets it fall closed behind him with a weary sigh, his fatigue bone-deep as he leans his back against the solid wood. It's been a long few weeks, and he can hunt criminals all day, or write through the night until the pale gray of dawn brushes across the horizon, but a day full of meetings at his publishers drains him like nothing else. He runs a hand down his face, tries to gather the wherewithal to even move.

Maybe they need a vacation, he thinks - get away for a couple of weeks. Someplace warm, quiet, solitary. Just he and Kate and the crash and curl of the ocean, the kiss of the breeze onto naked, sun-kissed skin. The mere imagery suffuses him with a fresh bout of energy and he pushes off the door, cold fingers starting to unbutton his heavy winter coat.

"Castle?" She calls his name from the bedroom, more like a squeal actually and he barely has time to drop his laptop bag, wiggle free from his constricting coat when Kate comes racing toward him, her feet fast, flying across the hardwood floor, her grin so wide that it captures his breath in his lungs. And then she tackles him, jumping on him, her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped to his hips. He staggers backwards a bit from the sheer force of it, can just about catch himself as he grips her beneath the rear.

"Rick…" She sighs his name, breathless and sweet and so blissful that he forgets every frustrating conversation and unsatisfying meeting of his day, the irritation sluicing off of him like soap bubbles in the shower. Her face is pressed to his neck, her breath warm as it caresses his skin. "Rick, Rick, Rick…"

"Hi Baby," he murmurs, giving her time as he savors her lithe body in his arms, the coil of warmth and strength that lives beneath her skin. She's so soft and supple, so beautiful inside and out. He still wonders sometimes what he did right in his life to deserve the love of this extraordinary woman. He feels like weeping, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes when he has no idea what's going on but it's something. Something good.

"It worked, Rick…" She whispers at last, her lips trailing a line of tender kisses up his neck and the side of his jaw until she lingers at the corner of his mouth. "It worked." Kate adjusts in his arms, her hands framing his face as she looks at him, such pure joy shining in her wide, beautiful eyes, practically dripping from her breathtaking smile.

"I'm pregnant."


	4. Couch Cuddles

**Couch Cuddles**

* * *

She shouldn't be here. She knows she shouldn't and yet here she is just the same, knocking on his door in the middle of the night, with her heart thudding loudly in her chest, and the cold still lacing her blood, clinging to every one of her pores like a layer of ice coated to her skin.

The door swings open; no hesitation, as if he knew it was her, or was hoping it would be. Either thought is a dangerous path down a road they can't take, even though in moments like these she forgets why they can't. She shakes it off, not even capable of analyzing or questioning, not after the day they'd had. She just wants... She can't _not_ be here; aches to see how the color has rushed back into his skin instead of the frosted pallor; see him move and speak and breathe.

His hair is adorably mussed, strands sticking up in every direction, his eyelids drooped as he takes her in, simply watches her framed in the doorway of his home and her insides drop at the sharp yearning in his eyes, all pretenses gone.

She should not be here but he's opening his door wider for her- and she steps inside.

The heat in the room roars at her, the vents pushing out warm air at full blast but it only makes her shiver more. He waits for her, silently stands guard while she toes off her boots, carelessly drops her wool coat to the floor, and then she follows him as he shuffles toward the couch, hunched beneath a blanket.

The TV is on, casting a bluish tint to the room that eerily reminds her of why she's come here, and goosebumps crawl up and down her arms. The sound is turned low though, leaving her hyper-aware of every breath he takes, every rustle and brush of fabrics as he drops onto the couch, lifting the piled up blankets next to him. She lets herself sink down into the welcoming cushions, drawing her knees up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them protectively, sitting next to him at a respectable distance while he arranges the blankets over her.

They sit silently, mindlessly watching some home redecorating show but it's like an unstoppable force, the way the warmth crawls beneath her clothes, making her feel hazy with fatigue, her eyes barely staying open. The way she sinks toward him, inexorably drawn to him; her legs unspooling as he opens his arms to her, drawing her over his chest with a sigh that sounds so much like relief. The way he folds her into his embrace as if they always do this, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is, maybe it should be.

She settles against him, her legs tangled between his as she curves a palm to his ribcage where she can feel the melody of his breathing, calm and regular and strong. He holds her tightly, his arms banded around her back but she doesn't care, savors the strength and unabashed need in his touch. His heart pumps beneath her ear, a stark rhythm that seems to sync with the pounding of her blood, her throat clogged with yearning that usually remains unacknowledged, well hidden beneath layers of teasing and work and careful lines they don't cross but it's there, stark and undeniable.

She breathes him in, her limbs tightening around him, her eyes closing as she swallows away the tears. He's here, breathing in her arms - broad and strong and warm and alive, still alive.

He's alive, he made it. They made it. They made it and she'll take this night, treasure every second she gets to be curled in his arms, savor the tangible knowledge that he's still here.

Tonight, this is where she needs to be.


	5. Puppy Piles

_Birthday Hug and Cuddle for Kylie - A very Happy Birthday, dear K! _

_(Newly written; not previously published on tumblr.)_

* * *

**Puppy Piles**

* * *

She wakes to the trickle of pale morning sunlight that sneaks through the blinds, and pulls the comforter back over her head with a groan. Turning over, she reaches across the bed but finds his side empty, the sheets already cold. It must be later than she thought; she must've slept in.

She sighs, curls deeper into the blankets, surprised by the sharp longing that suddenly spears through her. She wants him here, wants to crawl on his chest, feel his strong arms wrap around her, wants to just be held for a while.

She's turning 40 today. Forty years old. An odd kind of milestone. Past her prime, maybe? She doesn't know, feels confused why it matters, a little morose for even caring. Age is but a number, right?

Just when she thinks the house seems unusually silent, she hears little feet scuffing on the hardwood, the adorable sound of small giggles coming nearer, and then her husband's low voice. "Shhh, let's not wake mommy."

Her smile comes automatically, stretches across her cheeks as warmth unfurls inside of her, crawls into her limbs. She slowly drags herself up, scoots against the headboard with her knees drawn up, rubbing the grit from her eyes.

"I'm up," she calls out to them, and no sooner than the words have left her mouth, the door handle pops down and the door flies open.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy," her little boy comes racing inside, leaping on the bed and right on top of her. She barely manages to reach her arms out to catch him. "It's your birthday, mommy!"

"I know, baby," she hums, trying to hold him still as he bounces on her lap, his wild hair flopping over his forehead.

"What do you say, little man?" Castle reminds him and he startles, his eyes wide as he thinks.

"Uh yeah!" He grabs her face with his chubby hands, his fingers sticky with what she presumes is likely jam, looking earnestly at her as he announces, "Happy Birthday, mommy!"

"Thank you, my sweet boy." She eskimo-kisses his nose, and he giggles, and then her little boy just flops down on her, his face pressed into the curve of her neck. Kate cuddles him to her side, blinking up at Castle with a grin.

"I would've made you coffee," he apologizes with a shrug, "but I had my hands full." One of their girls is sitting on each of his hips, and he's trying to hold on to them as he walks up to the side of the bed. It's one of the most adorable things she's ever seen. Her heart leaps; she just loves him so much.

The twins start squirming to get down, little arms reaching for her and she holds out her hand for them. Castle carefully lets the toddlers drop onto the bed and then they're crawling onto her too, snuggled to her chest and wiggled over her lap, a coil of arms and chubby legs and baby cheeks, and she tightens her arms around all of them, inhaling the sweet scent of her daughter's head.

"They all wanted to see you," he states superfluously, laughing, and she looks up at him with a smile.

"Well, get in here too," she urges, and he hurries around the bed, slides in on his side. Curling an arm behind her back, he tugs her to his chest and she sinks against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

"It's like a pile of puppies, isn't it?" He grins and she laughs, surveying the pile of children draped over her; her beautiful, sweet babies.

She turns for him, kissing his cheek, her lips lingering against his chin, still raspy with morning scruff. "Thank you," she hums, relaxing against him because this, all of this-

It's everything.


	6. Sick

**Sick**

* * *

He finds her curled up on her side, looking tiny beneath the thick mountain of the comforter, knees probably pulled up close to her chest. Her hair is flung across the pillow, dull and knotted and he sits down on the edge of the bed, carefully runs his fingertips through the tangled mass. She whimpers a little, a pitiful sound that makes his heart ache, but she turns her head, seeking his touch. His thumb smooths at her temple, then her forehead, pushing away a few damp strands of hair matted to her skin. She's sweaty to the touch, her skin burning up but she shivers at his caress. Her eyes come open slowly, as if it's a momentous effort to even lift her lids, and it probably is. She blinks at him, her pupils bright with fever.

"I don't feel so good," she croaks, the ends of her words swallowed by her stuffy nose, and if he didn't feel so bad for her, he'd find her utterly adorable. She has the flu, a full-on, lie-down-and-feel-like-dying flu, there's no longer any doubt.

"I brought you some tea." He lifts the mug in his other hand and she stares at it for a moment, and then she shifts her knees around, struggling to lift up on her elbows. He wraps an arm around her shoulder blades, helping her sit up and carrying at least half her weight as she rests limply against him but she bravely reaches for the mug and takes a careful sip and winces.

"Careful, still hot," he cautions, and she looks up at him over the rim of the mug, lifts an eyebrow.

"I would hope so," she smirks, her weak efforts at normalcy followed by a coughing fit that has him grabbing for the cup, rescuing the hot liquid before it spills over her hands. Kate sags against him, utterly spent, but he guides the mug to her lips, makes her take a few more sips to calm her throat and get some fluids in her.

"Do you need anything else," he asks as he places the tea on the nightstand and helps her lie back down, huddling her blankets tightly around her slim, shivering body. "Cough drops? More blankets? Ibuprofen? Hot water bottle? Cool wraps?" He lists whatever he can think of, rambling on just so that he doesn't feel so wholly helpless. But she just shakes her head, her eyes already pinched closed.

He straightens her comforter once more and tries to get up, but her hand sneaks out from under the blankets, wrapping fiercely around his wrist.

"Stay," she whimpers, tugging on his arm. "Stay. Need you."

So he crawls around her, sliding beneath the layer of blankets to draw her against him. Kate rolls to her side, instinctively seeking him. He tugs her closer, his arms around her as she cuddles close, limp and spent in his arms. She curls in her knees once more, the patellas pushing sharply into his stomach, and beads of sweat roll down his temple from the warmth under the blanket and the heat that emanates from her body but he doesn't care.

Nowhere else he'd rather be.


	7. Hurt-Comfort

_Episode insert for 2x13, 'Suckerpunch.'_

* * *

**Hurt/Comfort**

* * *

Castle paces outside the ladies' room, warring with himself. He thought he could give her time, let her have the solitude she'd seemed to seek when she disappeared inside but he just can't; so much of this is his fault and he feels utterly helpless faced with the repercussions. He's sure he will never forget the desperation in her voice, the heart-wrenching sobs as she sat there helplessly, tears streaming down her face. He's the one who re-opened this Pandora's box, he has caused her this immense pain that he's convinced he can never make up for.

Then he hears her weeping through the door and he stops questioning altogether, instead pushing the door to swing wide open as he barges inside.

She doesn't even look up, just keeps viciously scrubbing at the blood on her hands, the water running pink as it circles the drain, her slender body wracked with sobs. He steps up to her, curving his fingers over her shoulder, like he'd done earlier when he pulled her off Coonan's lifeless body. He simply can't _not_ touch her faced with the palpable, tragic sadness that radiates from her. She had to kill the man who killed her mother - an eye for an eye, one might think, but that's just not Kate, not the compassionate, complex woman he's seen shine through her outward strength and armor from the very moment he met her.

"Kate," he murmurs, can't keep the sorrow from his voice and a heartbreaking sob tears from her throat when she suddenly whirls around, falling against him. Her face buried against his chest, she clenches her fingers into his shirt, clinging to the fabric, leaving sopping-wet, soapy fingerprints smudged pink with remnants of blood.

All her weight sinks against him as her knees seem to give out on her and he wraps his arms around her, hugging her tightly to him, as tight as he can. His forearms cradle her back while he brackets her waist with his palms and it strikes him almost forcefully how tiny she is, so slight in his arms, belying the fierce strength that lives beneath her skin. He's never seen her as vulnerable before and it tears at him, his throat clogged with grief.

He hums soothing sounds, a string of meaningless words into her hear, filled with tenderness for this extraordinary woman. His thumbs brush her ribcage as he cradles her tightly while her sobs subside into small whimpers, while he practically feels her strengthen in his arms, fortified for the next battle.

And later that night, faced with his own mortality, his first real close call, with the phantom feel of the gun barrel still pressed into his spine, he scribbles words on a list, bullet points of all the things he still wants to do, and see, and accomplish, things he's always postponed or never thought he could have - some silly and some outlandish, some that are fun and some that are his innermost dreams, and when he gets to the top, there is no longer hesitation, not a second of doubt before he puts his pen to the paper and writes:

#1 Be with Kate.


	8. Bear Hugs

_So very grateful for all of you - thank you for your continued enthusiasm and for making me smile._

* * *

**Bear Hugs**

* * *

She loves his hugs.

She really loves his strong hugs.

She really, really loves his bear hugs, the tight, intense ones that engulf her completely, the ones where he can't seem to let her go again until he's soaked up as much of her as he could. She savors those hugs, those moments where time seems to stand still for them, reprieve and quiet from their busy lives.

She never thought she was the type, isn't a simpering female in need of protection. She's a strong and self-reliant woman and she's proud of it; she's always enjoyed physical comfort but she's never needed it quite like this.

Yet there's nothing like being wrapped against the wall of his chest, her forehead nudged to the jumping vein in his neck as his biceps and muscled forearms fold closed around her, protective and tender and caring.

Kate came home to find him in the kitchen, stirring sauce and draining pasta. She stepped close to him, her fingers trailing over his shoulder in wordless greeting, and he turned for her, dropped everything to wrap her in his arms.

Sighing with relief, his broad, warm palm cradles her shoulder blade, the other pressing over her lower back where she's been aching all day, his warmth like a soothing balm to the lingering traces of back pain.

She curls closer, her temple pressed to his sternum where she can hear the reassuring beat of his heart, her head fitting just under his chin and she loves this too, their height difference that is just right when her heels are off. Her fingers dig into the taut muscles of his back as she draws in his scent, musk and wood and the mix of spices and oil from cooking dinner.

Everything is in his hug; she needs no words to tell her that he missed her even when they'd only parted two hours ago; that he's glad she's home. How happy he is and how very much he loves her - she feels it all in the encompassing breadth of his arms. She savors the broad strength she feels thrumming beneath his skin, and the tenderness with which he cradles her to him.

It's warmth and safety, silent care and pride and utmost adoration; it's honoring everything she is, every contrasting facet.

They're one of her favorite things of her day - his bear hugs.


	9. Sleepy

**Sleepy**

* * *

Kate shuffles out of the bedroom, blindly maneuvering through the dark office, bleary-eyed and her limbs heavy with sleep as she drags herself forward. She has no idea what time it is, doesn't know what woke her but when she'd rolled over, reaching for him she'd found only empty, cool sheets beneath her fingertips. She's no longer accustomed to sleeping on her own, has long since accepted that she's most relaxed and calm in his arms, that he brings her a certain sense of peace that had always eluded her so she sat up, swung her legs off the bed.

The hardwood is chilly beneath her feet as she steps through the doorway into the living room, at once arrested by the sight that greets her. All lights are off, only the fireplace still flickers, the lick of low flames dancing, bathing the room with a faint sunset glow.

Her eyes track over the couch and the form sprawled across the cushions, welling with tears, her heart pitter-pattering in her chest. She thinks it's rather ridiculous just how quickly her emotions overwhelm her these days but then again, who wouldn't feel the burst of joy, the comfortable warmth of love that curls inside her at the picture before her?

Her husband lies stretched out on the couch, a thin wool blanket tangled around his legs with his feet sticking out from underneath, one sock-clad and one naked. He's snoring almost inaudibly, a flop of his unruly hair hanging over his forehead. His palm is cradled protectively around the diapered bottom of his son sleeping on top of his chest, almost dwarfing the tiny body. His other hand rests on the baby's back, the boy curled in on himself, knees and elbows drawn up beneath him. She stares at his tiny, beautiful, perfect face, the pursed rosebud lips, the thin flutter of eyelashes that brushes his chubby cheeks and the wisp of fine, unruly hair that falls across his forehead, just like his daddy's.

She's filled with a piercing yearning for them both; needs to be there, curled up with them in their comfortable bubble, needs to be where she belongs – with them. She stumbles forward, rounds the sofa until she can carefully climb onto the cushion by his feet, wedging herself between his broad torso and the back of the couch, dragging herself up against him.

He grunts in his sleep, doesn't even wake up yet he opens his arm for her, innately attuned to her presence, until she's crawled into his embrace. He bands it tightly around her back, his palm curved around the ball of her shoulder as he tugs her higher, closer against his side until the length of her is pressed into him, one of her legs sliding between his.

Her baby sighs and wiggles, a tiny whimper and a huff escaping, and she lays her hand over his back where Rick's used to be, reveling in the rapid rise and fall of his little body with every breath that he takes.

And curled in Castle's arms her eyes fall closed as warmth engulfs her from the inside out and sleep claims her once more.


	10. Platonic

**_Valentine's Day Bonus Hug_**

AN: Episode tag-on for 3x15, 'The Final Nail'.

_Castle: "It's Valentine's Day. Shouldn't you be in a romantic restaurant, wearing a new dress and ordering Surf'n'Turf?"_

_Beckett: "I've got a couple of hours. You okay?"_

_Castle: "Yeah I'm fine."_

_Beckett: "Liar."_

* * *

**Platonic**

* * *

A couple of hours with Beckett have always felt like a couple of minutes to him. Time flies when you're having fun, so they say, but it's more than that. It's the way she speaks, the subtle melody of her enunciations that lure him into the net she weaves, and the bright intelligence of her opinions, thoughts and ideas that keep him there. Happily trapped; utterly smitten. It's the animation on her face when they spar with words and wit; the way she leans closer when she listens to him, head tilted just so, looking up from under the frame of her thick eyelashes, her eyes wide and sparkling.

He wants to stay like this all night and then forever, maybe, but the moment he's been dreading arrives just the same, unstoppable, unavoidable. She pulls up her sleeve, glances down at the face of her watch.

"I should go," she says, and he thinks he hears traces of the same regret in her voice that's trickling ice-cold through his blood. Something like panic tears through him but he ruthlessly squashes it down; he has no right. It's always there at the back of his mind yet for a couple of hours tonight he almost forgot that she isn't his.

He holds open her coat for her and she slides her arms inside, tucks her hair out from under her collar until it cascades in dark, wild waves down her back and the wave of her scent, that familiar swirl of cherry almost buckles his knees. Almost.

He walks her outside, his palm not-so-subtly resting against her lower back where he can feel the alluring warmth of her body radiating through the thick wool fabric, leaves it there even while they stand side by side at the curb. She gives him a sideways glance but she doesn't call him out on it; instead she smiles that tender, heartbreaking smile that he's seeing more and more lately. The one that makes him ache inside but gives him hope just the same, just dreamy enough to hold a promise of more.

A taxi pulls up and she steps forward, the sudden distance making him feel chilled to the bone when it's not even very cold tonight. But then she turns for him, her eyes flicking up, wide and dark. The wind gathers up her hair, swirls strands across her cheeks as she looks at him, and he remembers that moment so long ago when she teased him with his phrasing of choice, wants to grin and point it out but he can't speak, can't move, his heart picking up speed as he holds her gaze.

And then she steps into him - just one long, sudden stride before her body brushes against his. She wraps her arms around his torso, her hands pressed to his ribs as she tightens her hold, enfolds him into a snug hug. Her face sinks to his shoulder and he's not one to miss this chances so he bands his arms around her, tugging her closer to him, his palms broad against her slim back, her body so lithe and soft against him. He inhales her scent, his nose buried in her hair, soaks up the quiet strength of her embrace, the comfort that speaks of things they don't admit.

It feels so much longer than it probably is - this quiet, ethereal moment in the middle of New York City on a cool evening with an impatient taxi driver waiting in the background while they stand entwined on a sidewalk.

"You okay?" She asks as she pulls away, her thumb brushing at the side of his chin for just a moment while she watches him knowingly. He nods, his skin tingling where she touched. He swallows the lump in his throat as he finds a smile, and it's subdued but it's honest because it's for her.

And then she glides into the cab, is rushed away into the night while he looks after her, the yellow car shrinking from his vision, melting into the hodgepodge of colors in the distance.

No, he's still not okay. But he may just be a little bit better.

* * *

_Happy Valentine's Day, my lovelies! I appreciate each and every one of you, and I am truly thankful for your support and enthusiasm. _


	11. Post-sex

_AN: This chapter is rated M (a mild M, in my opinion, but still). If that's not your thing, feel free to skip this one - we're going back to T with the next hug. :)_

_Thank you for reading!_

* * *

**Post-sex**

* * *

His fingers linger at her side, doodling idle circles into the bracket of her waist as she gasps for breath, her chest lifting and falling rapidly, her limbs spread-eagled across the bed. Her skin is so soft and he can never get enough of touching her, curling his fingertip just so against her lowest rib where he knows her skin is hyper-sensitive, teasing her while she's still coming down from her peak.

These are his favorite moments, he thinks, right here - Kate spent and wracked from his ministrations, thoroughly and deliciously loved. So breathtakingly gorgeous. He's barely coherent himself, his muscles still weak and trembling, his heart pounding but there's nothing he savors more than the sight of her pleasure, the ferocious beauty of the moment when she comes undone.

Kate tremors with little aftershocks, her pulse throbbing beneath the tender skin of her neck and he puts his mouth to the spot, licking at the delectable mix of her sweet skin and the salty sheen of sweat. Moaning, she claws her fingers into his hair, her grip weak as she tugs at his hair, her message ambiguous - stop, or more, he can't tell.

He drags himself higher, his torso pressed to her side as she curls both arms around his neck, tugging him into her embrace, her fingers curled into the hair at his nape. He lowers his body to her, his weight carefully braced onto his elbow and his legs as they bracket her thigh, one pressed between her thighs and she shivers, her hips arching helplessly against him.

"One more," he whispers into her ear, knowing how to build the lingering tremors into another ferocious orgasm, if only he works them right. He draws her earlobe between his lips, his teeth nipping at the tender skin and she moans in almost helpless approval.

His fingers trail down her stomach, inexorably seeking the warm heaven between her legs and he groans when he finds heat, the slick mix of himself and her coating his fingertip. She whimpers, writhes, tightly gripping him, her nails digging into his neck, his back but he barely notices as he circles and slides and teases, finding a pointed rhythm that's spiraling her higher with every stroke. Her heels dig into the mattress, her strong thigh muscles clenched as she tightens in his arms, trying to arch within the cradle of his embrace, seeking, needing.

He presses his mouth to hers when he sends her flying, swallows her cries as she comes, her lithe body quivering in his arm as he holds her through it until she stills and he rolls onto his back, Kate draped over his chest, completely limp and spent.

Oh yeah. Absolutely his very favorite moments.


	12. Hugs from Behind

**Hugs From Behind**

* * *

He snags her as she steps back out of the ladies' room, his arms circling around her waist, tugging her back. She huffs in surprise, her insides instantly alive with the flap of a thousand butterflies as his scent engulfs her, his broad body framing her from behind. His palms press to her stomach and he draws her against him, her dress whispering secrets beneath his fingertips, the folds and pleats of the soft white fabric brushing her legs like a caress.

She lets her weight sink against his chest, the back of her head falling to his shoulder while she laces her fingers through his until they're knotted together, strong and tight. Tying the knot, she grins to herself, can't stop smiling as she tilts her face to look at him.

"Hello, my husband," she hums, letting her voice linger enticingly on the latter term and brushing a kiss to his jaw.

"Hello, my wife." He buries his face in her hair, breathing her in while his arms tighten around her, like he missed her when she was gone all of three minutes, like he can't quite believe the reality of the words, needs the physical reminder of her scent, the feel of her in his arms to know it's true.

She knows the feeling, frequently catches herself breathless, her heart leaping as she tries to grasp the magnitude, the sheer wonder of their lives. They made it. Through heartaches and missed moments, hunting and being hunted, near misses and threats, through everything that stood in their way, even when it was themselves - they made it.

They're married.

Relaxing against the broadness of his chest, she lets everything float from her, her mind almost hazy as she fills her senses with his embrace. The long hallway is empty, echoes with the sounds of music and laughter that's drifting from the ballroom, the vivacious joy of their guests as they celebrate this momentous occasion with them, and she smiles, welling with quiet happiness at all that she's been blessed with.

"Do you know how gorgeous you are?" He murmurs, his voice gravelly as he enunciates his words, reminding her of the first time she faced him across the table in the interrogation room, the desire and blatant implications hot and alluring and familiar.

"You may have mentioned it a time or two."

"Because you're more beautiful with every day." He curls his little finger, strokes teasingly low over her abdomen and the coil of want tightens deep within her, her cheeks turning rosy as her skin flushes with heat.

She arches against him, her fingers gripping his tightly. "Wanna get out of here?"

He kisses her cheek, the tenderness a stark contrast to the desire that she knows is tightening his body. "You're ready?"

She lifts his hand, brushes a line of kisses to his palm before she guides it to her face, tilts her cheek into his touch.

"I'm ready."

For everything.


	13. Dance

_AN: Bonus prompt – Write a story of exactly 10 sentences._

* * *

**Dance**

* * *

He folds his hand closed around her, his skin warm and softer than she expected, and she lets him lead, trails behind him until they are swallowed by the thick crowd swaying around them.

He tugs and she twirls into him, her other hand gliding to his shoulder as he wraps his arm around her waist, drawing her close, a fluid motion that seems more practiced than it has any right to be as her body aligns with his, subtle curves to long, smooth planes.

He's broad, safe and familiar, his body exuding heat and his musky, comforting scent that she wants to burrow against, knows she could lose herself in.

It's moments like these when she forgets that they don't do this, can't recall a single reason why they don't.

Her heart thuds in rhythm with the music, slow and dark and sensual, his eyes burning into her, almost black with things he doesn't say and she realizes- this is the first time they truly dance together.

There's a fire simmering low inside of her, flushing her with warmth; her skin, her cheeks, her fingertips tingling as she stares at him.

And then she lets go, gives in to the inevitable, her forehead sinking to his neck, her nose brushing his skin while her eyes sink closed and his arm tightens around her, his face buried in her hair, his warm breath caressing the shell of her ear.

They sway slowly, feet barely moving as she loses herself in the rhythm, in the brush of his body against hers and the circles his thumb draws across the back of her hand, every touch so gentle, cherishing.

The song fades, its last notes lingering in the space around them as they part, reluctant and inevitable, and the inches of space that separate them feel like a mile.

Her fingers trail down the length of his arm before they fall in that moment when reality takes hold once more, and she swallows hard, bites back tears as she remembers- they don't do this.


	14. Sleep Cuddling

_Really so thankful for all of you who are still reading and enjoying this... :)_

* * *

**Sleep Cuddling**

* * *

He sneaks in quietly, shoes pinched between his fingertips as his sock-clad feet tiptoe across the hardwood and into the bedroom, the door quietly falling closed behind him. He stops, his eyes running across the unmoving form huddled beneath the comforter as his heart leaps happily. He sets down his shoes, his laptop bag, starts shedding his clothes with each step closer to the edge of the bed.

Clad only in his boxers, he leans over her, trails two fingers across the warm, so soft skin that stretches over the ball of her shoulder, peeking out from beneath the covers. She doesn't seem to notice, keeps slumbering on, her breathing deep and relaxed, a lulling rhythm to his fatigued mind. Her face is half smudged into the pillow, one hand curled beneath her chin and she's so gorgeous, he realizes all over again, taking his breath. Her cheeks brushed pink with sleep, her dark eyelashes throwing shadows onto her remarkable cheekbones, her lips tilted into an almost-smile as she sleeps peacefully.

He knows she wanted to stay up for him but he's glad she didn't, glad she succumbed to the sleep that she needs. It's the middle of the night, even the city noises have dulled to a low rumble, the pale streetlights brushing in through the slants of the half-closed shutters. The fatigue hits him hard now and he quickly moves around the bed and crawls beneath the covers on his side, scooting closer until he's spooned against her back.

She sighs in her sleep, a deep exhale that sounds like relief as she snuggles her rear further into his groin and her toes brush his shin.

"Castle," she hums, barely comprehensible in her sleep and yet he knows the sound of his name on her lips, the instinctive awareness as she subconsciously feels his presence. He wraps an arm around her stomach, cradling the distinct curve and tightening his hold on her, and her fingers cover his hand, slide between the gaps of his.

It's been two weeks, two seemingly interminably long weeks that he was gone, that he hadn't wanted to leave for in the first place but in the end, it is his work and they'd agreed that he needed to go. Only two weeks and yet the changes are noticeable, the mound a little rounder, firmer, the flutter and pop stronger against his palm as the baby moves, and he hates having missed a single moment of their time.

And he had missed her fiercely.

He folds her cold toes between his shins, curls around her, his face buried to the back of her neck where he can inhale her scent. His heart calms with the tangible proof of being home, of holding her in his arms. The sense of serenity lulls him, his eyes closing as he finally sinks into a deep, calm sleep.


	15. First-Last

_AU insert for the end of 2x05, 'When the Bough Breaks'_

* * *

**First/Last**

* * *

"Good luck on your new book." She presses out the words, pastes a smile on her face that she doesn't feel. "I know that you'll do it proud." That part, at least, is true.

"Thanks," he replies and she waits for the words he seems to try to add but they never come. Instead he keeps looking at her, and entirely without her consent, her heart starts thudding rapidly in her chest, warmth rising to her cheeks. His mouth keeps opening, then closing, the words seemingly stuck and she'd find it comically - a writer with no words - if she didn't feel it too, that lingering knot in her throat that makes it hard to swallow, that dark gaping hole she feels opening up before her.

"You take care of yourself," he says at last. The words are too casual and she hadn't thought it would hurt this much.

It wasn't supposed to hurt at all.

He holds a hand out to her. She startles, stares at it for a long moment with her heart in her throat before she slowly slides her fingers against his palm with the bitter taste of goodbye on her tongue. She's somehow not at all surprised by the warmth that engulfs her when he closes his hand around hers, has to fight down the cloying sadness that she convinces herself she doesn't feel.

Her eyes lift to his, startled by the stark, raw expression she's never seen on his face. It's both serious and tender, his eyes dark blue with things unsaid and she swallows, subconsciously lists forward. He tugs on her hand and she comes, sinks against his chest as he enfolds her into his arms, his broad palms braced against her back. Her head fits just right into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder and she inhales his scent, her fingers clawing into his shirt as she chokes on the swell of tears that rises within her.

This will be their last hug, she suddenly realizes and she closes her eyes, presses her forehead against him, for this one time giving into the ache that simmers low and unacknowledged within her.

They part just as slowly as they came together, inevitably drawn apart as if tethered by invisible strings that pull them in opposing directions and maybe that's what it is, their lives moving forward, this tentative friendship acquaintance, reluctant partnership just a passing story of their lives.

Maybe it's how it was always supposed to be.

"Goodbye, Kate," he says at last, his voice gruff and she viciously squashes the wave of pain that's drowning her.

_I'll miss you._ The words clutch at her throat, remain unsaid as she watches him walk away, his broad, already so familiar form shrinking from her view. He doesn't look back and she realizes-

This was only their first hug.


	16. Drunk

**Drunk**

* * *

It's only when her knees buckle as she slides off the bar stool that he realizes how drunk she actually is. He reaches for her, as fast as his sluggish reflexes allow, his palms gripping her elbows as he catches her. They both sway, hang on to each other as they try to find their balance. His head feels hazy, his vision a bit blurry. He blinks, even his eyelids feeling sluggish when they drift, up and down, up and down.

Mainlining tequila with Beckett had always been his not-so-secret fantasy, soon-to-be blatantly revealed for all the world to read but the reality had been far less erotic, and yet a whole lot of fun. Just a random night out, unplanned and unapologetic; a night of shared stories and memories and jokes. Nothing heavy, only banter and laughter and it's the first time that he feels like their tentative, often reluctant (on her end!) partnership might be turning into a friendship, a shared bond; the first time that he feels truly accepted rather than just tolerated.

Her fingers clutch at his shirt as she holds herself up, unintentionally pulls herself closer - at least he thinks it's unintentional when her knees knock into his, her breath brushes his neck, damp and heavy. She lifts her thick, black eyelashes, her eyes wide as she focuses in on him and suddenly he feels like he's drowning in the depths of her eyes. He notices that they're bottle-green in the dim lighting of the bar, an unusual swirl of colors. He can't seem to stop staring into them.

"I'm gonna head out," she says and he nods his head, up and down and up again until he realizes he must look like an imbecile, catches himself in the motion as his head starts to spin.

And yet she doesn't move, her fingers still gripped to his shirt. He hooks an arm around her waist, steadying her or himself, he doesn't even know. Her hips crash into his and suddenly she's draped against him, her breasts crushed to his chest as she wiggles her forehead against his neck, warm and lithe and so soft and really feeling so very wonderful in his arms. He tightens his hold around her waist, his body stirring uncontrollably, the fire stoked deep within him. He's yearning, hoping and aching for something he'd thought he'd never have - something real. Something... Kate.

He doesn't know how long they stand rooted to the spot, doesn't know if they are actually swaying or it's just his woozy head but she pulls away eventually. Only her fingertips linger against his chest, small points of contact that tingle on his skin, like hot jolts of electricity.

"I had a great time tonight." She smiles at him and it's shattering the ground he walks on. "Thank you, Castle."

And then she saunters out of the bar, her hips swaying enticingly, her steps much more steady than he gave her credit for. He gapes after her, his mouth still dry and his skin flushed.

She would never be just a conquest.

She's everything.


	17. Morning

_AN: Bonus ficlet that was not prompted in the cuddles and hugs meme and has not previously been posted. My wife and I wrote this scene sometime last year in the middle of the night through text messages while she was at work and I couldn't sleep. _

* * *

**Morning**

* * *

Beckett woke before dawn. She stretched her arms above her head, arched her sore and injured back in a way she knew would draw a response. None came. The warm fingers that usually traced her spine, the hand that settled at the curve of her rear was absent. She turned. The sheets were cold. How long had she been alone?

She switched on the small lamp on the nightstand and sat still for a long moment, listening to the eerie silence that engulfed the apartment. No water rushing in the shower, no clatter of pans coming from the kitchen. She swung her legs off the bed, slid her feet into a pair of slippers and grabbed her robe, slowly padding through the early morning quiet.

Her first stop was the porta-crib nestled in the corner of the room, its tiny feet secure against the vast stone floor. She frowned. No beautiful sleeping baby girl. Just the pink and purple stuffed unicorn that had seen better days, and the scent of baby powder.

Her heart leapt. She told herself it was silly, no reason to worry but the silence seemed to pulsate around her, the absence of all the sounds she should be hearing stark, almost unbearable. She walked faster, hurried from the bathroom, through the study, into the wide living area.

She skidded to a halt in the center of the room. Nothing! She felt heat rising up from her shoulders to the back of her neck. Turning on her heel she scanned every detail around her. The cold stone floor, palm frond rugs, rattan furniture. All seemed to be untouched, undisturbed. Her eyes rested on the French doors leading to the balcony. She nearly deflated as she saw the outline of her husband lounging on the old antique chair. The sun was barely a sliver above the ocean.

He sat motionless, a dark silhouette against the gleam of the rising sun, and she quietly stepped toward the French doors, loathe to disturb his peace but inexorably drawn to him just the same. Before she'd even reached the doors he turned his head toward her, always attuned to her presence. Awareness prickled at the top of her spine, her need for him stark, overwhelming. Beautiful.

Castle smiled and held out a hand in invitation. Their miracle baby lay nestled in the crook of his other arm. She smiled and stepped through the door. With a whispered good morning, she lay a soft kiss on his lips.

"You're up early," she whispered, her nose brushing against his before she slid onto his thigh, curled herself against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her in place while she laid her hand on her baby's tummy, feeling the reassuring rhythm of the little girl's breathing, the rapid beat of her heart beneath her fingertips.

At her mother's touch the baby stirred, her tiny hand frantically seeking then wrapping around Beckett's finger. Castle smiled in awe as he watched two sets of identical eyes lock and hold.

"Hi Baby," Beckett smiled.

"Miss Beckett here refused to go back to sleep after her 4:00 a.m. bottle so I brought her here to watch the sun rise. Everyone should see the sun rise over Crete at least once."

Her little girl sucked Kate's index finger into her mouth, toothless gums gnawing at the fleshy pad.

"You do realize she won't remember any of it, right?" She needled, mouth pursed and eyebrow arched, unable to resist, too much fun in the way he'd react to her teasing, the fun of their banter, flaring as brightly as ever.

"Well she is _your_ daughter. I wouldn't put it past her. You tend to remember everything. Well, at least everything I say." He said, giving her an answering eyebrow.

"No, just the stupid things," she answered with a laugh. "All the better to rib you with!"

His nostrils flared but the light sparkling against the water silenced his retort. A sense of peace settled over them as they turned and watched the dawn give birth to another perfect day.


	18. Post-Sex II

**Post-Sex - After Their First Time**

* * *

Even now, after this, after all of this, she can still feel her pulse leaping in her throat, taste the flavors of him and her mingling on her tongue. She licks her lips, finds him there too, and a delicious frisson of aftershock races through her. Her heart throbs, the pulsations filling her chest, sliding into her limbs. The pleasure is still humming through her, lingering just beneath the surface, euphoria warring with the abject exhaustion that is trying to lay claim to her.

He's on top of her, their fingers still knotted together, the coil of their hands resting next to her head while his head lies on her collarbones, his breath a stumbling arrhythmia, hot and damp as it caresses her sensitized skin. He's almost too heavy, pushing her into the mattress; dull aches throb where he's pressed onto her bruises but she likes that - feels anchored by it. To the moment, the onslaught of emotions, to the still-surreal reality that they're really here, like this. Together.

She raises her knee, skates it up his thigh until her leg is hooked over his hip, cradling him closer. She trails her fingers into his soft hair at the back of his nape, then caresses her fingertips down the length of his back, swiping at the beads of sweat that have collected in the dip of his spine. He shivers in her arms, his hand clenching hers tightly, clinging to her, still breathless, still spent, her name like a benediction on his lips.

"Kate."

She arches beneath him, can't help it, fierce in her need for him, at once brand-new and as ancient as time itself.

"Kate," he sighs once more. His voice is worship and wonder as he lifts up, their sweat-slicked skin sliding together. He braces his weight on his forearms and she grips his head, tugging him to her, her lips tingling as she seeks his kiss. His mouth brushes hers, then travels across her cheekbones, her temples, her forehead, even her eyelids, the tenderness a stark contrast to the fervor with which they had come together, so raw and rich and ferocious.

She wraps her arms around his neck, curls her other leg to his hip, all her limbs tightening around him as she revels in the breath of him in her embrace, the heat of his skin and the familiar traces of his scent. His eyes find hers, his pupils deep-blue, bottomless like the ocean. He's looking at her with that same shocked amazement, that lingering sense of disbelief that had lanced through her as well. And she needs it gone, wants every doubt eradicated to make room for how real, how _spectacular_ this is.

"I'm here, Castle," she hums in reassurance, loosens one hand from around his neck to soothe her fingertips over his jaw and the soft curve of his bottom lip. She smiles at him, her whole heart open and displayed for him.

"I'm right where I want to be."

* * *

_._

_For now, this collection is complete. There were a few more prompts that I didn't get a chance to write yet and if I add them one day, they'll go up right here. If you have prompts for a specific hug you'd like to see, let me know - you never know what might happen... :)_

_Thank you so much for reading (or re-reading even when you'd seen them on tumblr before) - your sweet, enthusiastic, kind words and comments mean more to me than I can say. A big, cuddly hug to you all! xox _

_Tumblr & Twitter: Nic6879_


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